


Out of the Mouths of Babes

by grey2510



Series: The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (as in there are children that TFW must deal with), Case Fic, Charlie Lives, Charlie Ships It, Dean is actually better at feelings than he thinks, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Surprisingly Little Angst, The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: When a case comes up involving members of a first grade class, Dean and Cas end up spending some quality time with the tykes and learning a few things about themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt - Round 2!
> 
> Your Trope: “I Don’t Want To Ruin Our Friendship”
> 
> Your SPN element: “they think it’s witches but HOOBOY IT’S DEFINITELY NOT WITCHES witches would’ve been a cakewalk compared to THIS…”
> 
>  
> 
> Also, all the local history mentioned is 100% true.

 

> **TOWN BAFFLED BY ODD OCCURRENCES: ELABORATE PRANKS?**
> 
>  
> 
> STERLING, MA — Students in Ms. Priya Charan’s first grade class were astonished on Tuesday to return to their classroom after recess to find a young lamb bleating in the room. The snowy-white lamb seemed healthy and was immediately “adopted” by the young students, even if they were told they would not be able to keep the animal in school. Davis Farmland, a local petting zoo and activity center for children, agreed to take the animal, and offered free passes to the students to visit.
> 
> “I really have no idea how the animal could have gotten into the room,” Ms. Charan told _The Gazette_. “I always lock it when we leave.”
> 
> School principal Joyce Tellerman echoed the sentiments, assuring parents that they would be reviewing the school’s security in light of the event: “Obviously, we are very concerned that the animal—or someone with an animal—was able to gain access to the school while students were present. We are fortunate that no one was hurt, and we hope to reassure parents that we are working with police to do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of our students and staff.”
> 
> News of the story of course prompted many locals to make light of the situation, especially considering the town’s history. Sterling is the birthplace of Mary Sawyer, who, as a girl, was the inspiration for the famous nursery rhyme, “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. In fact, Ms. Charan says they had just read a book about Mary, the original lamb, and the town’s history earlier that morning.
> 
> But this isn’t the first odd occurrence in town that has left residents scratching their heads. Earlier this week, one family—who preferred to remain anonymous—went into their garage to find that their minivan had been replaced with a functional replica of Batman’s Batmobile. 
> 
> “If it hadn’t been such a surprise and obviously a theft or prank, I’d consider the swap pretty awesome,” the homeowner admitted. “Unfortunately, Batmobiles aren’t exactly kid-friendly, and I’d rather not go through government questioning again about how we obtained military-grade equipment.”
> 
> However, before the vehicle could be removed, it disappeared and the minivan was returned.
> 
> “My wife’s wicked disappointed she never got to try the Batmobile, as am I. But, yeah, the whole situation has been scary. We don’t know who was in our garage and car, and I’m just glad nothing happened to our kids and everyone’s ok.”
> 
> In another incident, a backyard playground was temporarily replaced with a miniature castle. At the time of publishing, the homeowners were unavailable for comment.
> 
> Police Chief Don Carmichael says they are taking each of these incidents very seriously and are working with state and federal agencies to resolve the situation.
> 
> “This is a quiet town with good people in it,” Chief Carmichael said. “We’ve never seen anything like this. We urge anyone with information to come forward.”

Tapping his fingers lightly against the table, Sam waits almost patiently until Dean looks up from the article.

“Wait, ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ is real?” Sam just gives him a silent, _Really, that’s what you’re taking away from this?_ , to which Dean rolls his eyes before conceding, “Ok, it’s weird, but no one’s hurt. How is this our thing?”

“No one’s hurt _yet,_ ” Charlie explains, snagging her tablet back and then handing it to Cas. “But how do we know it’s not gonna go bad real fast?”

Raising an eyebrow, Dean says, “You just want a Batmobile.”

“Like you don’t?” Charlie teases, and Sam has to agree with her on that one.

“Fair.” Dean shrugs.

Returning his mug of coffee to the table, Castiel looks up from reading. “Do we have any idea what could do this?”

Sam takes it upon himself to chime in at this point, since Charlie had come to him first about this case and he’d done some digging to make sure it was legit before presenting it to Dean, who he’d known would be skeptical. “Well, it’s kind of like the Antichrist thing, but Jesse’s AWOL and I don’t think he’s hanging around with first graders. ‘Cause it’s not just the little lamb: all the other families where weird stuff happened have kids, and I bet they're all in that class. There's gotta be some connection between them.”

Cas considers this. “I don’t believe this is the work of a human-demon spawn. There was only supposed to be one, and with Lucifer in the Cage, its powers would be diminished.”

“Yeah, but destiny and prophecy have a funny way of not meaning shit,” Dean counters.

The angel nods. “That’s true. We should keep that as a possibility.”

“What about witches?” Charlie asks.

Sam lifts a shoulder. “Could be.”

“God, I fucking hope not,” Dean grumbles, and while Sam certainly understands the sentiment, he has less of an aversion to witches than Dean does, and he’s just accepted that his brother is going to bitch and moan about it.

Charlie looks around the library table, obviously pleased with herself. “So, it’s a case?”

Dean shrugs. “We’ve looked into less.” And with that, he gets up from the table, tightening the belt of that dumb dead guy robe that Sam’s learned to just not even fight his brother about. “Alright, saddle up. We’re on the road in ten.”

“Ten?” Charlie complains. “C’mon, Dean. Girl’s gotta pack. Plus, I am not driving for hours with you three until y’all have showered.”

Sam self-consciously picks at his shirt, which is admittedly fairly gross from his morning run, not that he’d been planning on leaving without getting cleaned up. Cas—dressed as ever in his suit, tie, and jacket—just looks confused.

“I have no need to shower.”

Dean rolls his eyes at Cas’ Cas-ness, but he doesn’t argue Charlie’s point. “Fine, an hour. Tops.”

 

Two days, many hours, one sketchy motel, many highway rest stops, and many crappy fast food burgers later, they make it to Massachusetts and a little inn, since the closest motel is several towns over. They get two rooms, with Charlie taking one and offering Cas space to chill on the other bed at night, which Sam appreciates, because he really didn’t want to listen to Dean complain about Cas watching over him as he sleeps again.

“I usually fall asleep watching TV anyway,” Charlie had shrugged when Cas had expressed concern over keeping her up.

Now that they’re here, gathered in Sam and Dean’s room, it’s time to form their battle plan.

“Ok, there’s four of us, so,” Sam says, looking around the group, “how about Cas and I interview parents and teachers; Dean and Charlie, you take the kids.”

“Whoa, whoa, what?!” Dean and Charlie protest in unison from where they stand by the dresser and door, and Sam is uncomfortably reminded of the time he discovered that they share the same taste in porn stars (not that he’d really been surprised, but it was certainly information he could have gone without knowing).

“I’m not—" Dean says just as Charlie counters with, “Whaddya mean I have to—"

They both stop, and Dean gives Charlie an exaggeratedly courteous, _no really, after you_, with one hand, obviously catching on that Charlie’s worked herself up into a righteous fury, and yeah, she might be like at least a half a foot shorter than all of them, but even Cas at his most smiteful probably wouldn’t want to tangle with her when she’s on a roll.

Charlie takes the opening, looking pointedly at Sam, and really, he has no idea why this division of labor has set _Charlie_ off. Dean’s reaction is pretty much par for the course, but Sam’d been banking on Charlie’s presence making Dean less grumpy with a bunch of six-year-olds. (Which is totally a front: Dean’s like a big kid himself, and Charlie’s pretty good at bringing out that side of him.)

“How come _I_ have to be on kid duty?” Charlie asks. She points a finger at him, then wags it between all of them. “And if any one of you says it’s because I’m a girl and I’ve got maternal instincts or whatever, I will kick your ass so hard, buster.”

Cas looks decidedly uncomfortable and confused from where he sits on the corner of Dean’s bed, and wisely doesn’t say a word.

Dean just snorts. “Amen, sister.”

Sam’s jaw drops a bit. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. I just meant, I dunno, you’re...friendly?”

He shrugs, going as innocent puppy-dog as he can. Seriously, he wasn’t trying imply that working with kids is for girls or some dumb crap like that. He’s not saying he’s perfect, but he’s not that much of a jerk. To be honest, he’s a little hurt Charlie would think that of him.

Charlie crosses her arms. “No, nuh uh. I get more maternal over Pokémon than actual little humans. Someday, I’m going to find my super hot lady love and we’re going to have a corgi and two cats and live happily ever after.”

“Why cats?” Dean complains.

“You got a problem with cats?” Charlie challenges, and Sam internally weeps at how off topic this has gotten.

“Dean’s allergic,” Cas supplies while Dean rolls his eyes at the angel’s matter-of-factness. “Although, I’m surprised he didn’t object to the dog.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean replies dryly. “Corgis barely count as dogs. ‘Long as they’re not in Baby, I don’t care.”

“Guys, the case?” Sam interjects, which just results in them rounding on him again, and of course, Dean picks up the argument right where Charlie left off.

“So why am I pullin’ a _Kindergarten Cop_? Sam, you’re supposed to be the nice one, ‘let’s talk about our feelings’—you go be Teacher of the Year, do arts and crafts and shit.”

Sam frowns. “Uh, the last time I dealt with a kid, I was soulless, and I pretty much just pawned the shifter baby off on you, and it’s not like getting my soul back granted me magical kid-caring powers. Oh, and because out of all of us here, you’re the only one with real experience with kids.”

Dean’s face hardens, and Sam’s sorry he even obliquely alluded to Ben and Lisa. “One ten year old ain’t the same as twenty toddlers.”

“They’re six.”

“Same difference!” Dean objects. “I don’t know anything about little kids.”

Sam shrugs, a little sheepishly. “I turned out ok.”

Dean blinks. “What?” Apparently, it takes a second for what Sam said to register, but then Dean gets defensive again. “Dude, making you mac-n-cheese ain’t the same thing. And no, we are not having this conversation. Cas, back me up on this.”

“Um,” Cas answers eloquently, looking surprised at being dragged into the bickering. He looks to Charlie, who shrugs with a commiserating grimace—one that Dean luckily doesn’t see.

Dean groans. “Never mind.”

“Sam is right in regards to experience,” Cas finally says. “But, if Charlie doesn’t want to go, I can take her place.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Charlie chimes in, throwing Cas a grateful smile. “Makes sense, y’know, because I really need the practice doing real interviews, and then if we need to do research, Sam and I can do that, no problem, and—”

Dean groans again, scrubbing his face with his hand. “How is this my life?” he mutters. “Great, yeah, I’ll team up with Mr. Roboto and we’ll go talk to a bunch of first graders. What could go wrong.”

“I’m perfectly capable of talking to a small child,” Cas replies with more than a touch of surliness.

The corners of Dean’s mouth quirk up with that smugness that Sam has seen way too many times on his brother's face. “Yeah, kids love awkward guys who talk like they swallowed the dictionary.”

“Yes, obviously I will find this difficult because I have no experience dealing with humans who are immature and billions of years younger than I am,” Cas deadpans. Charlie’s eyes light up and she claps a hand over her mouth.

“Cas: one, Dean: zero,” Sam says under his breath.

Dean, momentarily taken aback by Cas’ burn, eventually recovers and turns to Sam. “Something you want to share with the class?”

“Nope! Well,” Sam says, shutting the laptop and standing up from the table by the window, “guess we better get ready. I’m, uh, going to get my stuff.”

“Go team!” Charlie chimes in, failing miserably at hiding her smile and following Sam to the door; Sam hadn’t really forgotten his suit in the car: he’d strategically left it there to give him an excuse to get out of the room for a few minutes in case Dean went into meltdown mode.

“What?!” Dean calls after them. “What, we are not—sonofabitch.”

Beside him, as they walk in the general direction of Charlie’s room and the front door of the inn, Charlie says conspiratorially, “This is either going to crash and burn or go beautifully.”

“What?” Sam asks, utterly confused.

“You’ll see, young Padawan,” Charlie answers just as they reach her room and part ways.

“Huh? Wait, Charlie, I’m older than you!” is Sam’s only confused response as the door closes.

“Still a Padawan!” Charlie calls out from behind the door.

Whatever that means.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why aren’t we posing as agents?” Castiel frowns at the light blue sweater he’d been given and told to wear over his shirt and tie but without the suit jacket or trench coat. Dean had tossed it to him from his own duffel while taking a beige button-up sweater for himself; he had originally given Castiel the beige one, and then for some unfathomable reason, had held up the blue one in Cas’ direction, reconsidered with his cheeks flushing slightly, and swapped garments.

“Because no parents are gonna let their kids talk to Federal agents without them,” Dean explains, somewhat impatiently, but Cas suspects it has more to do with Dean’s discomfort at their role in this case than any true annoyance with the question. At least, he hopes; he knows he is never going to be as comfortable interacting with humans as the brothers, no matter how much he practices, and he knows he’s made blunders in the past. He’s grateful that Dean and Sam are generally forgiving of his missteps, but he always fears that some day they’re going to become exasperated with his inadequacies and have no more use for him.

“So what is our cover and why must I wear this?”

“Kiddie shrinks,” Dean answers, then clarifies at Cas’ silent question, “Child psychologists. Therapists. That kind of thing.”

“I have no experience with that.”

“Like I do?” Dean huffs a laugh. “Just follow my lead...and try not to talk too much.”

Cas scowls. “I’m not completely incompetent.”

Dean looks taken aback. “No, I know, Cas. Just...yeah, ok. You’ll be fine.”

He doesn't seem completely convinced, but Castiel chooses not to press the matter. “And the sweaters?”

“I dunno,” Dean waves a hand vaguely while shoving jeans and flannel into his duffel, “it’s standard shrink attire. And the Mr. Rogers look is friendlier or whatever.” Bag zipped, Dean tosses it on the floor next to the bed.

Cas brightens. “I know that show.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all pop culture savvy. Plus, uh,” Dean eyes Cas and scratches the back of his neck, “the sweater looks good on you.”

If his wings weren’t a mangled and broken mess, Cas thinks they might have preened at the compliment. “Thank you. I do feel almost naked, however.”

Dean coughs. “Uh, right. Um. Great. Let’s go.”

And on that note, Dean abruptly leaves the room. Puzzled, Cas follows Dean through the lobby and outside. Charlie and Sam are leaning against the car, both of them in suits and in an animated discussion about something.

“But what about Tyrion?” Sam asks.

Charlie almost squeals and bats his arm. “Oh my god, just wait until the next book.”

Sam sighs a laugh. “Alright fine. Don’t spoil it for me.”

“Dude, I won’t, but know that I’m practically _dying_ not being able to tell you stuff, so you better catch up.” Charlie catches sight of Dean and Cas approaching and smiles in greeting before frowning in Dean’s direction. “You ok?”

“Me? Uh, yeah, fine,” Dean answers, then tosses the keys at Sam, who catches them in surprise. “You ‘n Charlie are gonna need the car if you’re going to different houses. Drop us off at the school.”

“Yeah, ok,” Sam nods, still clearly bemused. As Dean stalks to the passenger seat, Cas notices Charlie give Sam a look that he can’t quite decipher, but it clearly has some significance to Sam because he simply rolls his eyes before going to the driver’s side of the car.

Sliding into the backseat, Castiel once again reflects on how he misses being able to simply fly wherever he wishes, especially considering the strange tension rolling off of Dean. Charlie climbs in beside him and nudges him with her elbow with a nod at his shirt. “Looking good, by the way. Change of pace suits you.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Cas answers. “You look nice, too.”

Charlie grins. “Thanks, but man, these pantsuits suck. Better than nylons, though.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Cas shrugs, but then considers this. “Those do sound unpleasant and uncomfortable.”

“Dude, like 90% of women’s clothing is unpleasant and uncomfortable. Heels? Or, like, I’m tiny, I know, but underwire is just a bummer no matter how boobified you are.” From the passenger seat, Dean snorts in amusement. “Give me my jeans and t-shirts any day. Or my flannels. Or both. Both is good.”

Sam pulls the car onto the road. “This is why you’re part of the family, Charlie.”

“Because of my deep devotion to plaid?” Charlie laughs. “Alright, I’ll buy it.”

“Hm. I don’t own any flannel,” Castiel muses absently.

Dean spins around. “That’s not—you’re family, Cas,” he says, almost defensively, and the other occupants of the car blink at him. “You’re...Whatever, just drive, Sam.”

Cas catches Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror, but neither of them seem to have an answer for Dean’s outburst. He might not be the best at reading social cues, but even Castiel can pick up on the fact that there is something seriously bothering Dean today, and he’s starting to think it doesn’t have anything to do with the case and everything to do with _him_.

Unsure what to do, Castiel sits quietly the rest of the way and focuses on the case, mentally preparing himself for facing a class of children. With Dean on edge already, Cas doesn’t want to disappoint him.

 

Castiel doesn’t have much experience with schools, but walking into Houghton Elementary, he can’t say that he notices anything out of the ordinary: the school is clean and obviously well cared for, the bulletin boards lining the halls are cheerful and bright. Dean gets them through the Main Office, and Cas knows he should probably have paid closer attention to their cover story and Dean’s “bullshitting" techniques, especially if he wishes to improve his own skills as a hunter, but he finds his mind is elsewhere.

He and Dean hadn’t spoken much more in the car, and Sam and Charlie had carried the bulk of the conversation on the short drive before dropping them off, and Castiel can’t help but stress about Dean’s odd mood.

In the Main Office, he nods in the appropriate places as Dean explains who they are, greets the principal with a firm but friendly handshake, slips the lanyard of his visitor badge over his head without question, and follows Dean and the principal down the hall to Ms. Charan’s classroom with barely a word. Dean gives him an odd look, but says nothing.

When they reach the classroom, Principal Tellerman asks them to just wait a minute in the hallway while she speaks with Ms. Charan. Through the small pane in the door, Castiel can see desks in groups of four, and walls covered in glossy posters. While that seems inviting, what finally grounds him with what they are about to do is when he sees these small children—so many of them!—darting around the classroom. He doesn’t need angelic hearing to pick up on their laughter and chatter.

“Cas?” Dean asks. He’s leaning against the wall opposite the door with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “You ok, man?”

“There’s...a lot of children,” Castiel says at last, painfully aware of how obvious the statement is. “I’ve spent time with children in the past, but...I wonder if I may have have overestimated myself. I almost think witches may have been easier.”   

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, kids are crazy. But, they can be awesome, too.”

“I thought you didn’t want this assignment.”

The other man shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t rather just—"

Whatever Dean was going to say (Castiel has a feeling it was probably something about killing some evil thing) gets cut off as two older boys come out of a bathroom and catch sight of them. Dean gives them a warm smile, and Cas emulates it to the best of his ability, but other than giving them the most cursory of glances before launching back into their very energetic discussion of some sport or another, the boys pay them no attention and head towards a classroom at the end of the hall.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Dean resumes, though not where he’d left off. “I dunno. I know kids aren’t in the cards in this life, but…" He trails off, clearing his throat, and Cas knows better than to pry. “C’mere.”

Pushing off the wall, Dean steps forward and straightens Cas’ tie and the collar of his dress shirt. His fingers move deftly, though they pause a moment in smoothing down the edges of his sweater. There’s an almost shy grin on his face as he does it, one that Cas returns almost instinctually.

“There,” Dean says, “now you look—”

“Ms. Charan and Mrs. Tellerman say you can come in now!” a young voice announces from behind them. A small girl with short brown—almost black—hair and wide brown eyes is standing in the doorway, holding open the door.

“Be polite, please, Kylie,” a voice—Castiel assumes it must be Ms. Charan’s—calls from the room. “Ask them nicely.”

Kylie frowns. “Sorry. I mean, would you like to come in?”

“Of course,” Castiel responds. “Thank you.”

“Lead the way, Miss Kylie,” Dean answers, gesturing to the room with a hand. “And nice t-shirt.”

The girl looks down at her shirt—pink with the Batman logo in the center—then back up at Dean. “It’s the wrong color,” she answers cryptically before skipping back into the room.

Castiel and Dean share a questioning look, but Cas also feels obligated to point out the significance, saying out of the corner of his mouth as they go into the class, “Batman? Batmobile?”

Dean nods, and replies under his breath, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I talk to her. So, you ready to Mr. Rogers the hell out of this case?”     

“Only one way to find out,” Cas answers, trying to inject his voice with more confidence than he feels. He’s not sure he’s all that successful.

 

* * *

 

 

“This sucks,” Charlie grumbles as they pull up to the third place on their interview list.  

She scowls out the windshield at the droplets hitting the glass in the sudden downpour. Figures. At least the rest of their work should be inside from now on, but they have to get there first, and they’re parked quite a bit from the house in the long driveway, behind a pickup truck and a sedan. No sign of the mysterious minivan (The Mystery Machine?), but the garage doors are both closed.

They’d already gone to the petting zoo, and they’d had to go all Fed there because the poor college student running the ticket line had been completely weirded out by two adults without kids trying to get into the place. Sam had said something about being glad that at least it wasn’t a Plucky’s they were checking out, but Charlie can’t say she really sees how traipsing through a petting zoo and play area with little crumb crunchers running around had been all that much better. Kids are just _not_ her thing. At least the baby goats were cute and Charlie had definitely gotten distracted feeding them until Sam had pulled her away to go check out the little lamb, which yes, had had fleece as white and snow, and no, had not given off any EMF or any other sign of being anything other than a normal little totally adorable emergency cute baby animal.

Next up had been the house with the mini-castle in the backyard. After putting in an appearance at the police station, they’d gotten the name and address, and headed over. But, the mom had practically slammed the door in their faces, and even when they’d flashed their badges, she’d given them only the most basic of answers, all of which amounted to “we don’t know what happened and we want everyone to leave us alone.”

“Yeah, but it’s better than what Dean and Cas are doing,” Sam answers, reaching into the backseat and dragging an umbrella out from the footwell behind the passenger side. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll come around to your side,” Sam says. The rain is beating down on the roof of the Impala and already forming deep puddles in the driveway. Charlie isn’t even going to argue the chivalry thing: she doesn’t want to get soaked, and practically, she’s too short to be the one holding the umbrella here. And yeah, maybe she’d kind of jumped down Sam’s throat when he’d divvied up the case assignments and she feels a little bad about that: she knows Sam’s a good guy all around and hadn’t meant anything by it.

Sam opens the door and she climbs out, leaning in close to him so she’s completely under the umbrella.

“How do you think Dean and Cas are holding up?” she asks.

Sam grins. “Cas is probably freaked out and has no idea what to do. Dean’s probably got them all riled up and running around and driving the teacher nuts.”

“Probably right. Or, he’s been roped into playing house or doing something with glitter.” Charlie laughs evilly. “Oh, so much glitter.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” Sam says, and Charlie looks up at him. “Oh, if Dean ends up covered in glitter, he is never living that down. Not after he gave me shit that time I got attacked by a clown that exploded into glitter.”

She snorts back a laugh, seeing the look on Sam’s face. “I’m sorry. I know you and clowns...but, yeah, that’s kind of funny.”

“Not when they’re trying to kill you.”

“Touché.” They climb the porch steps and Charlie rings the doorbell while Sam shakes off the umbrella, now that they’re under cover. “But how do you think Dean and Cas are doing with Dean and Cas?”

“Huh?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me you didn’t catch how Dean was totally a flustered, blushing mess seeing Cas in a _sweater_. And you _know_ he gave Cas the blue one on purpose.”

Sam frowns. “Dude, you’re talking about Cas and my brother.”

“Yeah, there another Dean and Cas I don’t know about?” Charlie rejoins. “And so?”

“So, the less I know about whatever the hell goes on with them, the happier I am,” Sam shakes his head. Charlie never gets to reply to that, because at that moment, the door opens and a guy in his 40s, balding and with sharp blue eyes, greets them in a sweatshirt, jeans, and socks.

“Can I help you?”

“Mr. Robert O’Leary?” Sam asks. The man nods. Sam and Charlie pull out their badges, and Charlie’s pretty pleased she got it right-side up this time. “Agents Hamill and Fisher. We were wondering if we could ask you some more questions about the Batmobile incident.”

Robert O’Leary sighs. “Again?”

Charlie gives her best apologetic smile. “We’re sorry to bother you again. We really do need to ask you some questions, though.”

“Fine, c’mon in.” He opens the door wider and ushers them towards the kitchen. “Can I get you something?”

“No, thank you, Mr. O’Leary,” Sam declines politely as he and Charlie both take chairs at the table.

“Rob’s fine. Let me just call Kathleen,” Rob gestures vaguely towards the second floor, before padding over towards the stairs. “Kathleen!”

“Yeah?” a voice calls back down.

“More FBI.”

“Dammit, gimme a minute. I’ll be down.”

Rob returns to the kitchen, looking almost apologetic. “We’ve, uh, both been working from home this week. Kind of feel weird leaving the place alone, and Declan’s been acting kind of off. We kept him home from school on Tuesday.”

“And he’s back to school today?” Charlie asks as Rob sits.

“Yeah, we felt it was best. Our older kid, Madison, has been fine, so she’s been in school all week. Oh, hey,” Rob greets the woman entering, who must be Kathleen. She’s probably about Charlie’s height with thick black hair and broad features, and she looks at Sam and Charlie warily before sitting next to her husband. “This is Agents...um…"

“Hamill and Fisher,” Sam supplies.

“Hamill and Fisher?” Kathleen asks, her eyebrow raising. “What, is Ford off duty today?”

Rob gives her a look and Charlie’s eyes widen. Even Sam seems surprised.

“Hon—" Rob starts, but Kathleen cuts him off.

“Don’t ‘hon’ me, Rob.” She turns back to Charlie and Sam, eyeing them critically. “C’mon. You’re not FBI.”

“Um—" Sam and Charlie say in unison, and Charlie waits for Sam to come up with a surely amazing and clever response to get them out of this mess.

“Kathleen?” Rob’s brow is creased in confusion.

“What? They’re hunters,” Kathleen declares, almost triumphantly.

“Oh, frak,” Charlie mutters.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas was right: witches might have been easier.

Oh and that little shtick in the hallway about how kids are awesome and that Dean doesn’t actually mind them? Yeah, well, Cas might not have been the only one overestimating his abilities.

“With the rain, they’re going kind of stir-crazy,” Ms. Priya Charan had apologized after they’d been introduced to the class. “We’re having recess indoors, but the gym is being used by another class right now. So, free choice time: reading, coloring, playing… There’s not usually this much chaos.” She’d smiled at him, her round face practically lighting up, but not with any sort of flirtation, just genuine good will. If Dean were betting money, he’d lay it on all the kids loving their teacher, and the way there’s always a kid or two or three coming up to her to excitedly show her or tell her something just confirms it.

And while the chaos had seemed just that—chaotic—at first, once they’d gotten into it, Dean had noticed that these kids were pretty well-trained: sure, they darted from activity to activity, but there were obviously clear expectations for which areas of the classroom were acceptable to go in and what they could and couldn’t use during their play time.

But the activity level isn’t really problem.

No, it’s that he has now listened to five retellings of this _totally amazing_ catch that Jonah had made at outdoor recess the other day—but Jonah’s in the other class, so Dean wouldn’t know him, has been diagnosed with some sort of horrible disease and had to get a shot from a pretend plastic syringe by a girl who had clucked over him very seriously with a toy stethoscope around her neck, and has played art critic to what he was told were drawings of family members, zoo animals, and unicorns (he’s lucky that he had merely commented on one boy’s drawing that he thought it had looked really good and hadn’t said “Man, that dog is really cool!” because, turns out, it’d been a picture of the kid’s mom and that would’ve been super awkward…).

Cas, the lucky bastard, has somehow made the library corner his domain and he’s got a coupla kids practically hanging off him as he reads them a picture book in that low, gravelly voice of his. Dean smiles fondly as he watches and listens for a moment, wondering if Dr. Seuss has ever been read with such gravitas.

Looking up from the book, Cas makes eye contact with Dean, who feels his stomach flip, but he tamps that feeling down ASAP. Not dealing with that shit here. Nope, no sirree. Bad enough Cas is wearing that stupid blue sweater—

 _Why did I make him swap?_

_You know why, you idiot. It’s your own fault._

_Shut up._

Oh good. Because arguing with himself isn’t a bad sign or anything. Yeah, that’s normal.

In their two second silent communication, Cas not only conveys how utterly fucking content he is reading to these kids—and yeah, Dean can’t say he really saw that coming—but also that his angelic spidey senses aren’t tingling yet.  

Figures. Because, so far, none of the kids Dean’s talked to have given off any indication that they might be the (hopefully not evil) Damien in their midst. Or maybe it’s a Carol Anne. Who knows. All the kids he’s talked to have babbled happily about the lamb that just showed up in their room—one girl said her mom was taking her to go visit it on Saturday while another boy said they named the animal Fernando and that he had come up with the name—but that’s it. Just normal kid stuff.

As for the Batmobile and miniature castle, no one seems to know anything about that.

Dean kicks himself for not asking Sam and Charlie to get the family names from the police before coming over here. Hunting 101, and they went in blind. Rookie mistake. Discreetly, he shoots off a text to them, asking for any details as soon as they can.

Pocketing his phone, Dean notices little Kylie sitting alone at a desk near a corner, coloring with one of those jumbo boxes of crayons with a bagillion colors that Sammy had always eyed in the stores come August and September, but had known better than to ask for. Instead, Sam’d always trucked off to elementary school with a plastic pencil case filled with half-used crayons they’d scavenged from restaurants and from kids who got shiny new ones.

It occurs to Dean that other than their abrupt introduction to the girl in the hallway, he hasn’t talked to her yet, and neither has Cas.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, indicating the empty desk next to her.

She looks up, shrugs, and nods. “It’s Declan’s desk, but I don’t think he’ll care.”

Dean frowns, not recognizing the name. “Declan?”

“He’s at the nurse, I think.”

“Right.”

The chair is way too small for him, and there’s no way to sit at the desk properly, and he suddenly he imagines Sam trying to finagle his gargantuan limbs into a somewhat comfortable sitting position. Smiling to himself, he pulls a piece of paper from the stack at the middle of the group of desks. “Can I use your crayons?”

“Sure.” Kylie pushes the box over, and Dean selects a brown and gets to work.

After a moment, Kylie looks over at his page. “What’s that?” she laughs.

“That’s my brother trying sit at one of these tiny desks.”

The girl giggles. “No! That’s not your brother! That looks like a moose!”

“Heh heh,” Dean chuckles. “Mission accomplished, then. My brother’s practically a moose.” He must admit, the picture’s not half bad. Might even hang it up on the Bunker fridge when they get home.

“You’re silly.”

“It’s been said.” He glances over at the other desk, thinking maybe he can get this kid to open up talking about her artwork, then maybe they can get around to the Batman questions. “How about you? Whatcha workin’ on?”

From what Dean can see, her page looks not all that different from a few other family portraits—although hers actually look like humans, and not possibly canines. But for some reason, Kylie just pulls the drawing closer to her, covering it with an arm. Her face closes off, and she mutters a soft, “Nothing.”

“You sure?” Dean pries, carefully, not wanting to scare the kid off. “Remember what Ms. Charan said? That I’m someone you can talk to?”

Kylie looks up, studies him for a moment, but seems reluctant to answer. She looks down at her picture again. “It’s stupid.”

Without warning, she crumples up the paper; Dean takes it out of her hands gently. “I don’t think it’s stupid. Looked like one of the best pictures I’ve seen today, and I saw _a lot_ of pictures.” He holds it up, still mashed into a ball. “Can I?”

She bites her lower lip, then nods once. He smoothes it out on the desk.

“This your family?”

Another nod.

From what Dean can make out, there’s a blue house, a tree with a couple red dots that he’s pretty sure are supposed to be apples, an orange cat or fox or something, two parents (a mom and a dad, if the hairstyles and purple triangle dress on the mom are anything to go by) and two kids (a boy and a girl). He points to the girl in the drawing. “That you?”

Kylie’s eyes go wide, and she shakes her head. “My sister.”

“Oh, nice. That your brother?” He taps a finger on the boy.

Those brown eyes are as big as dinner plates and look like they’re on the verge of tears, and now Dean’s wondering what family trauma he just waded into. God, he hopes the brother’s still alive, because if there’s one thing that Dean knows and yet has never had to deal with permanently, it’s the loss of a sibling.

“No.” The word is so quiet, he almost misses it.

“Not your brother?” Kylie shakes her head. “Who is it?”

“It’s—” Kylie stops, looks around the room. “Can I tell you a secret? You won't tell?”

Dean’s heart stops for a minute. He’s got a feeling this isn’t going to have anything to do with their case, and the words “mandated reporter" (which both Ms. Charan and Mrs. Tellerman had mentioned more than few times before letting him and Cas talk with the kids) keep running around his head. Not that he actually is, in fact, a mandated reporter (or a kiddie shrinker, for that matter)—but like hell he’s not gonna get a kid help with someone actually in power to do so if they need it.

“I can’t promise you that,” he says. “But I can promise I’ll only tell a grown up who can help, like Ms. Charan, if it’s something bad.”

The girl looks over at her teacher, who is sitting with a few students doing some reading exercises with them, patiently helping them through the words they keep stumbling over, reassuring them that they’re doing just fine.

“I like Ms. Charan. She’s nice,” Kylie decides before looking back at Dean and then her drawing. Clearly having made up her mind, she takes a deep breath and points one small finger at the crinkled paper boy. “That’s me. Or...I wish it was.”

Dean can feel his brain churning over this, trying to piece together what the kid is telling him and why it’s a secret when suddenly it all clunks into place.

Oh.

OH.

Shit, this is not in the Hunter Handbook.

There’s a part of him that wants to just flag down Ms. Charan and run like hell because there’s no way Dean Fucking Winchester has any idea how to handle this without screwing this kid up royally. It’s not like he was exactly raised in the most PC environment.

But this kid is looking at him, all doe-eyed, probably waiting fearfully for him to get angry or be upset, but also cautiously hoping he’ll do exactly what he said he would: be someone to talk to.

“So,” he says slowly, not sure what to say exactly and not wanting to make assumptions in case he’s way off base, “when you said before—that the shirt’s the wrong color—you meant…?”

“It’s pink,” the kid says. “Pink’s a _girl’s_ color.”

“Well,” he shrugs, and god if Sam could see him now (but he can also _hear_ Charlie in his head telling him that saying pink is a girl’s color is sexist and stupid and something about “toxic masculinity”), “pink doesn’t have to be just for girls. But I see your point. And you’re…?”

“Not a girl,” the kid whispers, then taps a temple with a finger. “Not in here.”

“Oh. That’s ok,” Dean says, hating how lame it sounds, but the kid brightens immediately at even the slightest hint of approval. “So...should I...should I call you Kylie?”

“Everyone does,” the kid—he?—frowns. “I tried to tell my mom I wanted to be just Kyle instead, like Tanya’s big brother—he’s _twelve_ —but she said no.”   

“I can call you Kyle, if you want.”

“Really?” Kyle’s smile lights up his whole face.

“Sure,” Dean nods, encouraged by the kid’s reaction. “Did you tell Ms. Charan?” Kyle shakes his head. “Do you want me to? I think she would want to know. And I think she’d be ok with it.”

“Would she tell my mom?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her. But I think she’d do what’s best for you.” Dean looks down at the drawing. “So your mom wasn’t ok with you wanting to be a Kyle not a Kylie?”

“Yeah. She said...she said that’s not what you’re ‘posed to do.”

Like Dean hasn’t heard some variation of that tune a thousand times over the course of his life. John Winchester’s Guide to Being a Man. What a trip.

Movement to his right catches his eye, and Dean glances over to see Cas standing up from where he’s been sitting cross-legged on the deep blue rug in the corner with the bookshelves. A boy tugs on his pant leg, holding up another book, and Cas gives that quietly pleased smile of his before crouching down on his haunches to look the boy in the eye. He murmurs something to the boy, who nods in acceptance, then takes the book over to his friend to read while Cas walks towards another boy who just came into the room.

“Dr. Dean?” Kyle asks quietly.

“Sorry. Got distracted.” Dean clears his throat. He scooches his chair around so it’s facing Kyle more directly. “So, I never met your mom, and I was always cool with being a boy, so I can’t say I know exactly what you’re goin’ through, but I know a little something about being told what you’re supposed to do and who you’re supposed to be. My dad had some pretty strong ideas about that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you know what? Took me a long time, but you know what I learned?” He beckons Kyle closer with two fingers, and the kid leans in to hear this secret. “You mom or your dad can’t tell you who you are. Or what you’re supposed to like. Or who you’re supposed to like...or l-love.”

Kyle nods. “Mom says that about Grace’s moms. Says having two mommies isn’t right.”

“Your mom’s wrong, kiddo. One of my best friend’s a girl and she likes other girls, and that’s ok. Just like it’s ok if you wanna be Kyle and not Kylie.”

God, he hopes he’s not fucking this up. Where’s Charlie when he needs her? Yeah, she might not be all gung-ho about the kid thing, but surely she’s gotta have a better idea what to say to this kid. Or maybe Sam? Sam’s good with all the emotional stuff. He’d know what to do—

“Like you and Dr. Cas?”

If his brain could record scratch, this would’ve been a scratch for the ages, damn near break the vinyl.

“What?”

Kyle nods his head in the direction of Cas. “You ‘n Dr. Cas. You did the same thing to his tie in the hall that my mom does to Dad’s.”

“Oh, uh…" _Fucking fuck._ Trust some kid to just lay it all out there. “Um. Dr. Cas and I aren’t like that.”

Dean thinks Kyle could give Cas a run for his money when he frowns in confusion.

“Whaddya mean?”

Dean sighs. “We’re just friends.”

“But you love each other, right?”

And of course Cas picks that moment to turn his head in Dean’s direction from where he’s talking with a little blond boy. The smile Cas gives is barely noticeable—in fact, it has pretty much nothing to do with his mouth and almost everything to do with those blue eyes of his—but Dean catches it.

“Um, sure, but…" There’s a million excuses running through Dean’s head, but in light of what Kyle confessed to him, his go-to deflections are shot to hell, and he’s the one playing the shrink here—not exactly fair to unload a lifetime’s worth of hunting trauma and reasons why Dean doesn’t deserve Cas on a first grader—and so he lands on a completely paltry, “He’s my best friend, y’know? Don’t want to mess that up.”

The look on Kyle’s face could give Sam’s bitch-faces and looks of incredulity a run for their money. “That’s stupid.”

“Um…” Despite everything, Dean shakes his head and chuckles. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He pauses. “You gonna be ok, dude?”

Biting his lower lip again, Kyle nods. “I’m gonna tell Ms. Charan later.”

“Awesome.” He holds up a hand, and Kyle gives an enthusiastic high-five. “Ooh!” Dean shakes out his hand like it hurts, grinning at the kid, who laughs. “Alright, I’m gonna go talk to Dr. Cas. You come find me if you need me, ok?”

“Uh huh.” And, in what seem to be far better spirits than before, Kyle puts his crayons away and goes to play with some other classmates.

Running a hand over his face, Dean stands up.

Jesus. Let no one ever say teaching is a cushy job.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel must admit that he wasn’t expecting being in the classroom to be such an enjoyable experience. And despite Dean’s reservations (and, truthfully, his own), the children had welcomed him fairly easily into their confidence, and didn’t think he was strange or odd—or, if they did, they didn’t seem to mind.

Over the course of the hour, he read several books, mostly involving farm animals and one with very strange animals and a frustrating rhyme scheme and rhythm that had nearly tripped him up a few times. He’s not sure what the moral message of _Fox in Socks_ is, but the children had enjoyed it.

In between stories, he’d had the opportunity to talk with the boys and girls around him, although he would sometimes tune out of their long and convoluted stories to track Dean around the room. The man may have grumbled about taking this job, but Dean really is a natural with young children, gamely listening to stories, coloring, and playing with them.

It’s when Dean is with one student—Kylie, Cas remembers from their meeting in the hallway—that they catch each other’s eye and share a quick, silent exchange. Something warms in Cas’ heart and he smiles, relieved that whatever was setting Dean off earlier seems to have passed, and almost...flustered?...by the shared moment.

He tries to push the feeling from his mind, focusing on the case at hand, even though none of these children seem to have any idea why there was a lamb in their classroom or why various other objects have been appearing magically around town. Granted, they were all _very_ excited to tell them the story of Fernando the Lamb (as the creature was apparently dubbed); Cas is positive he has heard at least seven unique versions of the event.

Finally, Cas sees a blond boy come into the classroom, one that neither he nor Dean has spoken with. Almost immediately, Castiel can sense the child, and he knows that whatever is at the heart of this case, the boy is the answer. Excusing himself from the reading group, and apologizing to Henry and encouraging him to read with his friend Cora instead, Castiel makes his way over to the new boy, who is speaking with Ms. Charan.

“And you’re feeling ok, now, Declan?” the teacher asks. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to call home?”

“No, I’m ok. I just took a little nap and I’m better now,” Declan replies. The boy’s skin is pale naturally, but Castiel thinks he does look a little paler than is probably normal.

“Ok, well, if you’re not feeling good or get worse, just let me know,” Ms. Charan says with a warm smile. “Go ahead and play for a bit: we have another five minutes until we’re back at our desks.”

“Actually,” Castiel interrupts, “would it be alright if I spoke with...Declan?”

Ms. Charan turns, almost surprised at seeing Castiel right behind her. “Oh! Yes, of course. Declan, this is Dr. Casti…"

“Dr. Cas is fine,” Castiel explains. While they had introduced themselves with actual alias last names, Dean had suggested they use their first names with the children.

“...Dr. Cas,” the teacher repeats. “He’s just going to ask you some questions and talk to you a bit. You can trust him, just like me or Mrs. Tellerman, ok?”

Declan nods, looking between Cas and Ms. Charan. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, we—Dr. Dean and I—have been talking to all your classmates,” he assures him.

“Ok,” the boy replies as Ms. Charan moves away with a whispered, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Castiel nods in acknowledgment, and then leads the boy to a group of desks away from the general hubbub of students, where they each take a chair.

Before he can even formulate a question, Declan asks, “Are you like me?”

"...what do you mean?” Castiel asks, cautiously, unsure what the boy’s power can detect.

“I can-I can do things,” the boy confesses. “Like magic. And I can...see you can, too. Not see. That’s not right—I’unno how to ‘splain it.”

“I don’t think I’m exactly like you,” Castiel says. “But, yes, I can do things that some people would think are magic. I used to be able to fly. And I can heal people if they’re sick and hurt.”

Of course, there’s a lot more that Grace can accomplish, but somehow he thinks explaining how to smite a demon, for instance, might be frowned upon.

“I didn’t _mean_ to make the lamb. Or the Batmobile or the castle!” The words tumble out of the boy. “Dad said the Batmobile was cool but then the scary men came and asked where we got it and the castle was jus’ ‘cause Parker ‘n I were playing at his house ‘n we were playing knights and castles and we wished the swingset was a real castle, but I didn’t _mean_ to make it and—"

“Declan,” Castiel cuts in. “It’s alright. You’re not in trouble.”

But Declan doesn’t seem to hear. “I switched it all back! Well, not the lamb ‘cause the farm people ‘dopted him, so ‘s ok. But the Batmobile and castle! I _fixed_ it! I hadta think ‘bout it real hard, and then my head hurt, but I _fixed_ it, I promise!”  

Cas puts a hand over the boy’s and the contact seems to calm him. “I know. That’s very impressive work. There are some adults with your powers who can’t do that.”

Declan’s eyes are wide as they look up at Cas’. “Really?”

“Really.” Cas takes his hand back. “Have you always been able to do this?”

“No. Just like a little while. I got mad at my sister and turned her hair blue. Mom said it wasn’t funny.”

“Hm,” Cas muses. So the parents are aware. “What did your parents say?”

“I’unno. They talked a _lot_ in the kitchen but the door was closed so I couln’ hear ‘em. And then my dad said I couldn’ tell anyone because people would think I was crazy or weird or somethin’.” Declan’s shoulders slump. “I don’t wanna be weird.”

“People say I’m weird,” Cas admits with a shrug. “Dr. Dean says it all the time.”

Declan looks over at Dean, who still seems to be talking with a girl, but the other man catches sight of Cas for a second and smiles.

“But you’re friends, right?”

“Y-yes. Even...like family,” Cas says, hesitant. “It’s ok to be weird.”

“But...what if no one else likes that I’m weird an’ can _do_ things?” Declan says in almost a whisper.

“Then, they’re not important,” Castiel says firmly. “I’m very old, older than I look, and I always thought being different was bad. For years, I thought that. But Dr. Dean showed me it was ok. And he and his brother like me anyway.”

“Oh,” Declan says, and then looks up over Cas’ shoulder.

“Cas, a minute?” Dean says, nodding with his head towards the door.

“Excuse us,” Castiel tells Declan as he rises to follow the hunter.

In the hallway, Dean waves his phone in Cas’ direction. “Charlie and Sam got a hit. That kid you’re talking to? Declan?”

“He has psychic powers,” Castiel confirms. “Not unlike, I would imagine, Fred Jones. The one who liked cartoons.”

Dean nods. “Sounds about right. Think he’s dangerous?”

“Not intentionally,” Cas shakes his head. “He says he didn’t mean to make those things appear.”

“Alright,” Dean says, looking down at his phone and tapping the screen with his thumb. “Sam said to call when we had a chance—"

“Dean? Cas?” a voice chirps up through the speakers.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Alright, any luck with the kids? ‘Cause we just talked to Declan’s parents and—"

“It’s like Harry Potter! The first one! When Harry makes the glass at the zoo disappear or he ends up on the roof of his school or—" Charlie’s voice chimes in excitedly.

“Whoa, whoa, what?” Dean says with a raised eyebrow.

Castiel, however, straightens up with a proud smile. “ _I_ understood that reference.”

“Ha! See, Dean? Even _Cas_ —"

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Charlie, we get it, Harry Potter’s the best thing ever.” Dean rolls his eyes, but he gives Cas a wink and a smile; Castiel doubts Dean could ever truly be annoyed with Charlie. “Ok, so, you guys saying the parents know about all this?”

Sam takes over this time, saying, “Yeah, that’s why they kept him home earlier this week.”

“Declan said his head hurt after focusing on fixing everything,” Castiel offers.

“Great.” Dean sighs. “Alright, so what do we do?”

“Nothing,” Sam says. “Parents knew we were hunters.”

“And,” Charlie adds, “they said the mom’s cousin’s a witch and—”

“Friggin’ witches,” Dean mutters.

"—the cousin’s gonna come in next week and help Declan figure out how to deal with the whole magic powers you-are-the-chosen-one thing,” Charlie finishes, ignoring Dean’s remark.

“White magic,” Sam explains. “One of the good ones.”

“Alright, fine,” Dean says, but Cas can tell he’s not really all that upset. Indeed, the man’s shoulders noticeably lift with relief at a relatively easy and violence-free case. “Swing by and pick us up?”

“En route, Captain!” Charlie chirps.  

The call disconnects and Dean slips the phone back into his pocket. “Well, that was easy. Kinda. Oh! Gotta do one thing before we leave.”

And with that, Dean ducks back into the classroom, going straight to Ms. Charan and having a whispered conversation. Cas stands awkwardly by the door, and Declan finds him again.

“Are you leaving now?” the boy asks.

Castiel nods. “In a few minutes.”

“And you’re going back with Dr. Dean?”

“Yes. Back...home. With him, and his brother, and our friend.”

“Can you visit? Maybe sometime? Show me magic stuff?”

Castiel crouches down, resting on one knee. “I live very far from here, but if you pray—think a message to me, I will hear it. It might take me a few days to come, but I’ll try.”

“Ok,” Declan smiles. “Thanks, Dr. Cas.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ready to go?” Dean says, clapping Cas on the shoulder as Declan scampers away. He doesn’t remove it as Cas stands, and Cas finds he doesn’t mind in the slightest, even if this would certainly violate one of Dean’s ‘personal space’ rules.

“Yes, but I think you have some unfinished business,” Castiel says, indicating with his jaw to someone behind Dean.

“Wha—oh, hey, Kyle,” Dean says, spinning to find the child in the pink Batman shirt holding up a drawing for Dean. “For me?”

The child nods, grins, and then pulls Dean down by his sleeve. Over Dean’s shoulder, Cas sees three crudely, but colorfully, drawn figures: what appears to be two men holding hands and a small boy next to them. The men have light brown and black hair, green and blue eyes, and wide smiles. The brown haired boy is also smiling broadly and is wearing a blue and orange outfit.

“That’s me ‘n you ‘n Dr. Cas.”

Castiel’s heart thuds in his chest, almost panicked anticipating Dean’s reaction, worried that the hunter will take the child’s obviously innocent mistake the wrong way. Because there’s no way that Dean would ever—

“Wow, um, thanks, Kyle,” Dean smiles, and Cas’ jaw almost hits the floor. “Really. You’re a good kid. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Like you ‘n Dr. Cas?”

Dean looks up to Cas, and there’s something in his expression that Cas has seen before, something warm and inviting, something that Cas has always _hoped_ would mean more but he has always been terrified to assume. Tentatively, Cas returns the look, and this time, it’s he who puts a hand on a shoulder.

“Yeah, I think me ‘n Dr. Cas are gonna be ok.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, there they are!” Charlie announces from the passenger seat. Sam looks over at the entrance to the school, where Dean and Cas are walking out, one of Dean’s arms thrown casually over Cas’ shoulder; his brother is outright grinning and even Cas seems pleased.

 _Huh._ Sam sighs, and surreptitiously digs out his wallet. Obviously he doesn’t do it subtly enough, though, because Charlie notices and gives a completely smug grin.

“Not until it’s confirmed,” he warns. Charlie rolls her eyes, and reaches for the door handle just as Dean and Cas make it to the car.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean greets, indicating the half-open passenger door. “Me ‘n Cas’ll take the back.”

“You sure?” Charlie asks, and yeah, Sam doesn’t blame her in the slightest for the look of absolute shock on her face. “Um, ok.”

She settles back in the seat and closes the door while Cas and Dean climb in the back, Cas going in first and sliding across the bench to make way for Dean. Sam side-eyes Charlie who waggles her eyebrows.

They pull away from the school, and immediately Charlie starts peppering Dean and Cas about their adventures with the kiddos, but that’s not what Sam pays attention to. No, what Sam notices in the rearview mirror is his brother nervously sliding a hand across the back seat, and the smile—God, Sam’s not sure he’s ever seen Cas smile that brightly—on the angel’s face as he takes Dean’s hand and entwines their fingers. Charlie, who is sitting sideways in the passenger seat, notices, but makes no comment. She just gives Sam a look, and at a stop sign, Sam digs out the twenty bucks he owes her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean isn’t really mad when he sees the money exchange hands. He plays it off all indignant, loudly proclaiming that Sam and Charlie suck and to cut a guy a break and yadda yadda.

But he doesn’t mean it.

Because he and “Dr.” Cas are ok. More than ok. Finally.

And he doesn’t know what will happen with Kyle, but at least his teacher knows now and is on board and has that kid’s back no matter what.

And no one got hurt, and they didn’t have to kill anyone for a change.

Yeah, this case was a win all around.

Thank _god_ it wasn’t witches.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write a lot of easy fluff, so I hope this wasn't OOC.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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